


What Do You Want From Me?

by Zeebruh



Category: Death Note
Genre: Explicit Language, Love, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeebruh/pseuds/Zeebruh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello's hit with so many things at such a young age, and ends up taking it out on Matt. <br/>Sometimes, the people you love end up hurting you the most. In this case, physically as well as emotionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Want From Me?

**Author's Note:**

> A little snip of a fic that I wrote a loooong time ago -- it's pretty dark and twisted, the basic skeleton of it being the lyrics from the song "Whataya Want From Me" by Adam Lambert. A songfic, if you will. As well, at first I put on the "non-con/rape" warning when I realized that it's not rape. Matt doesn't necessarily get pleasure out of what Mello does to him (since there is some violence involved) but it's still consensual sex. Also I'm aware that the tenses are weird, it's meant to be like that though because Matt's telling the story in past tense but sometimes switches to present tense to explain that certain things are always the same... that doesn't make any sense, but hopefully it will when you read it. So yeah.

_Hey, slow it down_

 

I closed my eyes. I had to pretend that I wasn’t scared shitless of him. And then I forced myself to open them. His blonde locks were darkened and unruly, glinting a crude gold under the dim lights. The acrid smell of blood and sweat was present in the thick summer air, lingering on his leather. He usually tried to disguise it with eau-de-vie, but today – well, I guess he couldn’t be bothered.

I closed them again. By this time of my life, I had perfected my game face: stoic, calm, collected. But right then, right at this moment, the only thing I could focus on was to keep my stomach from trembling noticeably.

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

He inched closer, I could feel it, and though he didn’t say anything I knew he wanted me to look at him. His gaze burnt through my eyelids, a skill he had picked up from infancy. So my eyes snapped open. He was in a rage today. A few hours prior I’d been subconsciously loosening up my body, trying to rest and relax so that it could handle what was coming. You’d think after a certain number of times I’d be used to it by now.

But within a few seconds any relaxed feeling in me diminished and my body tensed at the sight of his visage – teeth bared, eyes demonic and boring into me, without actually looking at me. Like a monster of some sort. God, he had so many problems. Anger issues were just one small part of them, and I always knew that, so maybe it was my own fault for walking into this. So I just grin and bear it. 

 

_Yeah, I’m afraid… so what do you want from me?_

 

I try to admire the beauty about him, the beauty hidden by that angst and pain that he wore too often. Flaxen hair, catlike oceanic irises, and smooth golden skin. It’s hard, I’ll admit, but when I really focus in on those things, it kind of lifts the tension.

_I_ know who he really is. _I_ understand him.

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

He tore off my shirt with one strong hand, my pants with the other. The same hands that handled guns and weapons of all kinds, the ones that killed ruthlessly, the ones that carried the blood of innocent. But that’s not who he is. It’s just a façade.

Letting his weight fall on me, I let my hands fall to his waist. “It’s okay,” I whispered into the shell of his ear. It may not have sounded convincing, but it was the best I could do. 

And instantly, his mouth was on mine. He bit my bottom lip with razor teeth, sucking relentlessly. Broken, rough nails dragged across my legs and stomach and back and scalp. Within a second I found myself slammed into the wall, left with no space to breathe as he pressed himself against my chest.  

 

_There might’ve been a time where I could give myself away_

 

I allowed him to bite my neck, keep me pinned, to use me because I always let him. He brought down my boxers. Lifted me to a standing with strong fingers pressing into my bicep, where he spun me around and rammed me into the wall where my cheek found its company. The temperature difference came as a shock, my body on fire while the wall was icy, metallic. I heard him unzip his pants quickly, panting from the sudden exertion, and in a second he gripped my hips, and entered me.

And all I feel is pain.

Pleasure may come, but when it does it's grossly masked. Pleasure hasn’t come recently.

 

_Oh, once upon a time, I didn’t give a damn_

_  
_

He groaned loudly at the steady rhythm he was setting, which of course was too fast for me, because it always is. I only moaned softly, biting my lip and holding my lungs together to suppress the sounds I really felt like making.

I never even realize anymore when the tears fall down my numbing face. His lips fell to the nape of my sweaty neck, and in that spot I felt him. For a fleeting moment in this frenzy, I felt what he really was. The monster subsided and I _felt_ him. And he thrust, kept thrusting until my bones felt as if they would shatter against the cold, hard wall. Finally, he came, and his body relaxed. Mine didn’t. 

 

_But now, here we are… so what do you want from me?_

 

“Hard day?” I mumbled through my teeth, trying not to sound bitter. He didn’t answer, and instead fell into the bed in the middle of the room. It’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, and yet he insists on the fucking wall. I crawled in with him, finding a moment’s comfort in relaxing my back against the soft mattresses and finding sanctuary under the heavy covers. After a minute, he put an arm around me.

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as he whispers every time, tears clenching his throat. I smile every time. It’s a worn, exhausted half smile but it’s one nonetheless.

“It’s okay.”

 

_Just don’t give up, I am working it out_

 

And when he presses a full, desperately rueful kiss upon my swelled lips, I’m reassured. You may say I’m twisted, but in that one moment that he kisses me you can be sure to God that I’m reassured.

 

_Please don’t give in, I won’t let you down_

 

He kissed my cheek, my neck, my lips again, each time more slowly.

 

_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_

 

“Hard day,” he answered through our breaths. My hands rested at his waist lightly. Though I could feel new bruises blossoming over the old ones, I didn’t seem to mind.

 

_Just keep coming around, hey, what do you want from me?_

 

Whenever I cringe at the pain, he holds me closer.

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

He repeats, “Matt…I’m sorry.”

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

And though I shouldn’t forgive him, I always do. “It’s okay, Mello.” Because I love him. And I accept him. Isn’t that what love is about?


End file.
